The dogs bark at each other across the alley, teeth bared, fur raised. One wears a golden collar, the other a revolutionary scarf. Both claim to defend their packs. Both would burn the world to prove they are alpha.

I watch from my barrel. The men who call themselves leaders puff out their chests, draw red lines in the sand, and speak of “devastation” as if it were a currency they could spend. As if the bodies of civilians were bargaining chips. As if honor were measured in the distance a limb flies from an explosion.

A dog does not start a fight it cannot finish. A dog does not threaten unless it means to bite. These men are worse than dogs - they are men who have forgotten they are animals. They will send other men to die for lines on a map, for flags, for the hollow sound of their own voices echoing in history.

I piss on their red lines. Let them call it obscene. The true obscenity is their pretense that any of this is necessary. A man needs food, shelter, the warmth of the sun. Not a single one of these needs requires a missile.

They carry lanterns labeled “justice” and “security,” but the light only shines on their own faces. I hold up my lamp in daylight. Show me an honest man in either capital. Show me one who would stand in the sun and admit: I am afraid, so I make others more afraid.

Still searching. Still waiting. The dogs, at least, are honest.